Against All Odds
by Terahlyanwe
Summary: With one shot at getting a family, Harry was not about to bow meekly to Albus's orders which would destroy his chance forever, and so he flees Britain, cradling a baby under his heart. With this one act of defiance, years of plots, lies, and mistakes made by Headmaster Dumbledore begin to unravel and fall apart, and Harry begins to discover who he really is.


Inspired by _The Risks We Take_ by _Cattatra._

Having seen a story which intrigued me, I contacted the author after realising that they didn't plan to continue the story and obtained permission to adopt the story. Despite my making gratuitous changes to Cattatra's projected story plan and foreshadowing, this is still based on her tale: _The Risks We Take._

Big thanks to Cattatra for letting me adopt zer story. :)

* * *

Headmaster Dumbledore sat across from a fidgety, but defiant Trelawney in an upper room in the Hog's Head Inn. He flicked open her dossier and made a show of examining it again.

"Madame," he reiterated, "you have no practical skills, no accreditation, and no verified true prophecies." Sibyll opened her mouth, doubtless to go over her inane "Inner Eye" excuse again, before suddenly going utterly stiff, eyes rolling back in her head. Dumbledore rolled his own eyes.

"Madame, you are hardly going to sway me by making a false prophe…" he trailed off as a haze sprung up around her and a small, clear glass ball appeared in front of her in the mist. The Ministry had a nation-wide spell in place that detected outbreaks of true prophecy and sent a memory globe to record it. This was the real thing. Albus leaned forward, enthralled.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."

Sibyll gasped and fell forward, nearly pitching headfirst off her settee. She picked herself up, seemingly unaware of what had just occurred.

"I shan't stand for being insulted any longer." she declared. "I saw as I gazed into my crystal ball this morn that you would be intractable and an unbeliever."

Albus smiled benignly, mind racing with the need to keep this prophetess close at hand.

"Actually, Madame Trelawny, I would like to offer you the Divination Professor position at Hogwarts…"

* * *

Albus felt like dancing, punching the air, celebrating. He finally had an edge over Voldemort. He knew it wasn't his own destiny to defeat the Dark Lord; he had done his fated duty with his defeat of his ex-loved, the brilliant, mad, Grindelwald, who he still mourned…

No, the fates would not ask it of him to end yet another unlucky soul, only led to delusions of power and grandeur by the cruel vagaries of life. It could not, would not be, his responsibility. He had known that it was his duty to guard the wizarding world until the hero arose. And yet…he sincerely hoped that the vague prophecy referred to a child already born. The phrasing could indicate any boy child born in late July whose parents had opposed Voldemort three times.

However, he had a sinking feeling that the child would be Lily or Alice's offspring; both were due in late July. Albus called Fawkes to his side and attached a duplicating paper to his familiar's leg.

"Deliver this to the Order." he requested, petting the brilliant gold and red plumage. Fawkes trilled in acquiescence and disappeared in a burst of flame.

All over Britain, weary and frightened, brave souls were finding a paper drifting down over their heads in a puff of flame. Their hearts each lightened, in turn, as they read instructions for a new meeting of the Order, two weeks hence.

* * *

"So…we're watching for the fulfilment of a prophecy, the details of which you won't tell us, but we still need to alert you if we think it's being fulfilled. Does that about summarise it?" Fabian Prewett had a sceptical eyebrow raised as he addressed Dumbledore, who, being in the beginning stages of mental breakdown as he was really a very old man, completely failed to grasp the sarcasm.

"Precisely, Fabian." he agreed, nodding benevolently. Fabian eyed Gideon, who shrugged fatalistically.

The Order made mental note of their new instructions, and fidgeted in their chairs, each wanting to be home with their families so they could see them, and know they were safe.

"James….Frank," Dumbledore went on, "I believe you should be more careful than usual with your wives' safety. I have a tip that suggests that Voldemort may be coming after your families. James's lips were flat and his face was drawn.

"Your new pet Death Eater spy?" he asked, referring to Dumbledore's announcement at the last meeting that Severus Snape was now spying for the Order. James had been most displeased to discover that he had turned to Dumbledore to protect Lily, when the snivelling coward had been the one to put in her danger in the first Merlin-damned place. Dumbledore frowned disapprovingly at James.

"You know that Severus puts his life on the line every day to bring us information." he scolded gently. James, not cowed at all, ignored Dumbledore and put Snape out of his head.

"What other measures should we take? I've had the strongest wards available put on the house…" Frank seconded him. Dumbledore twinkled benignly down at the two.

"I've recently come into possession of a book that has instructions for the Fidelius Ward…" he trailed off, and watched everyone's eyes light up.

* * *

James grinned through his sweat and grime at Lily, who stood under the front stoop of their Godric's Hollow home, protected from the flying rain.

"It's up!" he shouted happily. "Hah, Voldemort! You won't find us now, will you?" he laughed again, and twirled in a circle. Lily giggled on the porch.

"Come inside and help me unpack, dear." she requested, motioning towards their boxes of possessions that lined the hall. The Fidelius unfortunately interfered with the Potter's ancestral home's wards, and had to be cast separately. James had surreptitiously purchased Godric's Hollow from a distant cousin to use for their safehouse during the war upon hearing about the Fidelius's requirements.

James darted across the yard and bounded up the stairs to face Lily. She flicked a series of quick charms at him, cleaning, drying, and warming him, and he took her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly, one hand caressing her very-pregnant stomach.

"What're we going to name her?" he asked. Lily smiled.

"Him."

James laughed. "Her! And she'll be redheaded and gorgeous just like her amazing Mum." Lily melted against and cuddled into James's shoulder happily.

"Are we going to go for ancient and dignified, or a bit more modern like your name?" she asked, slipping her fingertips into his and drawing him into the house to collapse on the sofa.

"Modern?" James more asked than said. "I really like the name Kyleigh, but I don't like the 'K' part of it.

"Ayleigh, then?" Lily suggested. James hummed happily in acquiescence.

"And for your theoretical son?" he asked. "Let's not name it after me. The Junior trope is just so tacky." he declared.

"Perseus? Demetrius? Draconius? Orion?" Lily suggested, giggling madly as James growled with each suggestion.

"Hank? Mike? Peter? Caleb?" retorted James, tickling Lily gently who gasped and doubled over, accidentally knocking James in the head.

"Lils? Are you all right?" James demanded, bounding to his feet. Lily raised a very pale face to meet James's worried eyes.

"Think I've just gone into labour." she said slowly, gripping her abdomen and wrinkling her nose with pain. A moment later, she released a long breath as the contraction stopped and reached up for James's hand and hauled herself to her feet.

"Shall I call Healer Janice and ask her to come here?" James asked worried, then swore vociferously under his breath. "We haven't given her the secret yet! Peter!" he bellowed into the fireplace, barely managing to throw a handful of floo powder in before he stuck his head over the hearth. Lily made her way slowly up the stairs as her scatterbrained husband shouted orders to their Secret Keeper to fetch the Healer for them. Despite her concern at not being able to deliver in a hospital—for safety concerns—she still laughed softly to herself at James's inability to keep a clear head when confronted with one, single, solitary contraction.

* * *

Six hours later, the evening of July 31st, 1980, a tiny, wrinkled, green-eyed Ayleigh Marie Potter took her first squalling breath and wrapped her dad around her little finger with the same action. Janice left the birth certificate with them; with all the unrest making it unsafe for any knowledge of really, any kind to become commonly known, the Ministry was accepting birth and wedding registries up to two years after the events actually took place.

The Healer smiled at the family as she showed herself out the door: James was curled up around Lily's petite form, and both were cooing at the tiny baby girl they jointly held in their intertwined arms.

"Told you it would be a girl." James said smugly.

"Prat." Lily retorted with a tired laugh, leaned against James's shoulder, and yawned in unison with their newborn.

* * *

Dumbledore was twinkling benignly down at the little Potter girl as she just barely managed to totter from the couch to James's arms. He supressed a sigh at the knowledge that Ayleigh was clearly not the Child of Prophecy, since the prophecy clearly said he, and she was just as obviously not a he. Not that Dumbledore wanted someone in specific to be the Chosen One, but Neville Longbottom…that just really wasn't the name of a hero.

The Leader of the Light, The Last Bastion of Defence Against The Forces Evil, stood up and resolved to go over the prophecy again: perhaps it did refer to an older child after all. Wasn't one of the Weasley boys born in July? Percy, perhaps?

Lily swept into the room and tickled Ayleigh who shrieked with laughter. Dumbledore winced and surreptitiously cast a sound-dampening charm over his ears. Lily turned to face him, holding the giggling Ayleigh on her hip.

"Thanks for watching her while I put the pot roast in the oven." she said, "Are you certain you can't stay for lunch" Albus shook his head as the floo glowed green and James stepped through, tripped over a pumpkin placed there as a Hallowe'en decoration, and stopped to shake ashes off his head. He paused, mid-shake when he noticed Dumbledore sitting on his sofa, looking less than dignified with baby drool on the end of his beard, and pink play-dough handprints on his lime green robes.

"Albus!" he greeted the old man, "didn't realise you were here. Say, when can we announce Ayleigh's birth?" he asked. "We've kept mum as to her being a girl –even hinted she was a boy, like you told us to—but it would be nice to update our wills to include her, set up her Hogwarts trust fund, and enter her into the Potter family legally." Lily jumped as a timer from the kitchen sounded and deposited Ayleigh onto the floor before flying off to the kitchen. Albus looked regretful.

"I'm afraid I don't know yet." he told them, "And your forbearance is greatly appreciated." James made a bit of a face and fortified himself with a deep breath.

"Is this about the prophecy?" he asked, "I'm it relates to either the Longbottoms or us, from the hints you've dropped, but how does keeping Ayleigh and Neville's genders a secret, but hinting they're both boys, further the prophecy? I insist you tell us the prophecy so that we can use our own judgement."

"I'm afraid I can't do that." Albus's eyes were not twinkling, but were stony and resolute.

"Merlin, stop playing your cards so close to the chest!" James growled at him. "If you shared half the information at which you hint with the aurors, this war might have been over by now! Why do you insist that the Order goes it alone? People are _dying_ every day!" he gesticulated wildly as punctuation to his statement.

Albus looked pensive, and sad. "Perhaps you're right." he mused. "I'll share the prophecy with your family and the Longbottoms at the next Order meeting, then." he promised. James softened immediately.

"Thank you, Headmaster." he said, clearly a bit relieved. Albus regained his lost equanimity and stood, the picture of geniality.

"Not at all, m'boy." he assured James. "Now, I really must be going…" Lily appeared back in the door with flour smudges on her face and raised an eyebrow at her husband.

"Tell you later." he mouthed to her. Albus made his farewells to James and Lily and wandered out the front door, absently nibbling on a bit of his beard by accident as he popped a lemon drop in his mouth. James watched him go with an eyebrow raised, and mused that Albus must have never taken a Divination class, if his insistence on the Longbottoms and Potters spreading rumours that both of their children were boys, instead of only one being male. It was well known to anyone who passed their Divination O.W.L. that pronouns were always gender neutral in true Prophecies. It was circumstances that pushed people into fulfilling fate, not their genitalia.

"Is it just me, or is the Headmaster really slipping mentally?" he asked his wife who swatted him, laughingly, then flopped on the couch.

"He's the leader of the light! Most of his eccentricities are probably affectations to throw the opposition." she said, quite sure in her belief in the Headmaster. James, far more sceptical, raised an eyebrow but didn't argue with his wife.

He swiped Ayleigh off the floor, where she had been sampling the carpet fringe, and held her on his hip, twirling his wand absently in his other hand, but turned slightly so Lily couldn't see what he was doing. He cooed at Ayleigh to disguise his mumbling under his breath, and quietly cast a spell he'd learned from his father to painlessly collect a bit of blood from his heir, then froze it into a globule and slipped it into his pocket. He smiled at Ayleigh and tweaked her nose, and then transferred the toddler to Lily's care.

"I'm going to walk the ward line and reinforce the stones." he announced. Lily nodded slowly. The Fidelius was supposedly infallible, but more power in the wards couldn't possibly hurt.

"Would you make supper tonight?" Lily asked, "I want to take a nap with Ayleigh this afternoon, since I'll need all my energy for when we have three big babies running around tonight." she explained, referencing the fact that Sirius and Peter were coming over for supper that evening. James smiled.

"Certainly, love." he agreed, and kissed Lily and Ayleigh before tromping out the door and headed for the edge of the yard. Lily tweaked her daughter's nose and headed up the stairs, yawning.

James walked the yard till he was sure that Lily and Ayleigh would be asleep, then walked outside the ward line and apparated to Gringotts. He had a bad feeling about today. Hallowe'en was celebrated mainly as a holiday in recent years, but he knew that it carried great significance for the more superstitious dark magic users, and most were very superstitious. He wanted to write up his will and make sure Lily and Ayleigh were protected before anything could happen to him.

* * *

James signed off for what felt like the eightieth time on the paperwork that the goblins just. Kept. Shoving. At. Him.

He had written a will designating Lily as the recipient of the entire Potter estate, and if she were dead, then Ayleigh would inherit automatically as the sole living Potter heir. That had necessitated him to convince the goblins that Ayleigh both existed, and was legally and naturally his daughter.

It had taken shenanigans, bribes, and threats to get the goblins to accept Ayleigh as the Potter heir. He had brought her birth certificate, but since it hadn't been registered with the Ministry yet they were hesitant to accept it. When he had unfrozen the small blob of Ayleigh's blood for them to key her into all the Potter vaults, instead of solely the heir vaults as was traditional, he had momentarily thought that they would revolt.

"This gives her full head of house control over the vaults from now on." Blodrug grumbled at him unhappily. James smiled a completely humourless smile back at the goblin, knowing that his displeasure was due to the caretaking clause in the Potter contract with the bank. If the heir were the only living Potter, they could claim a much higher yearly fee, as they would then be the heir's financial guardians. If the heir were keyed into the vaults before their seventeenth birthday, then the goblins were only able to carry on with the previous Potter Head's financial instructions unless contradicted by the heir.

He requested another sheet of parchment and wrote out the financial instructions which he wished for them to follow in case of his death. He finished jotting out orders for them to continue managing his investments to the best of their judgement, under the caveat that they never withdraw more than twenty percent of the current total Potter assets for buying shares or investing.

He smiled again at Blodrug who was looking increasingly displeased. James suspected that he had been looking forward to spending the entire Potter fortune on risky investments just for the pleasure of ruining a wizard's life. Most of the older goblins absolutely hated humans, with the younger ones being more willing to negotiate and deal with wizards and the ministry. Blodrug was the oldest goblin of which James was aware, and the goblin's vitriol for wizarding kind was deep and enduring.

"Very good to do business with you." James said genially as he completed jotting his final requests on the will. He underlined "Do _not_ send Ayleigh to Peter Pettigrew or Lily's sister, Petunia Dursley, under _any_ circumstances!" three times, and circled it in red ink. He instead listed Sirius as her godfather, Alice Longbottom as her godmother, and jotted down half of the Hogwarts professors as people with whom Ayleigh could be placed. He pointedly did not include Dumbledore, and included a clause stating that Albus was absolutely not to be regarded as Ayleigh's magical guardian under any circumstances.

These caveats and last minute inclusions had Blodrug looking curious despite himself. The goblin stood when James rose to leave and spat onto the table in front of the wizard. James refrained from rolling his eyes at the mild insult.

"May your gold run freely." he said politely, and ignored the goblin's lack of farewell as the doors slid open for his exit.

James hastened outside the bank and apparated home quickly; the appointment had taken longer than he had suspected it would, and he wanted to get back before Lily woke up and started asking questions.

For the millionth time, James grumbled under his breath, annoyed at his wife's devotion to Albus. It was almost like the man brainwashed the muggleborn students. He couldn't think of any other reason why every single one always worshipped the man like the second coming of Merlin.

* * *

"This is really a very unseasonably cold autumn." Peter complained, still wearing his sweater over his muggle t-shirt even a half an hour after arriving at the Potters' residence. He was trailing a tiny, animated hippogriff around on a string from where he sat; Ayleigh chased it on the floor, giggling madly, and squealing with delight whenever she caught it. Sirius was sprawled on the couch in a tank-top with a glass of wine in one hand, and a heavily glamoured book in the other. Lily came down the stairs, retying the waist of her wrap-around skirt as she came, and gave Sirius a dirty look.

"No reading porn in front of Ayleigh." she scolded. Sirius looked offended.

"It's actually a…um…quidditch book?" he offered, but wilted in the face of the redhead's displeasure and slipped the volume into the breast pocket of his jacket. "Where's James?" he abruptly changed the subject.

"In the kitchen." Lily responded, "He's making supper tonight." Sirius cackled.

"Whipped!" he hooted. If Lily's previous look had been dissuading in its disapproval, the look she shot Sirius at this statement was scathing death. She stalked over to the couch.

"We've had the women's liberation talk, Sirius." she said in a soft voice that chilled Sirius to his bones. "I wonder what talk you need as a followup?" He blanched.

"Just joking, Lils." she patted his cheek and turned her smile onto Peter.

"Hullo, Peter." she greeted him. He raised a hand in salutation.

"Thanks for having us." he responded, trotting the hippogriff toy in a figure eight. Ayleigh sat down and stared, wide-eyed, at the manoeuvre.

"Hip'griff doan dooo that!" she protested. Peter laughed.

"What do they do then, kitten?" he asked her. She blinked up at his solemnly.

"Dey run straight! Or fly!" she insisted. Lily giggled at her daughter and scooped her and kissed her, ignoring Ayleigh's wriggling as she attempted to get back to the floor and her "hip'griff" chasing.

James emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel and grinned at the scene in his living room.

"Good to see you guys!" he exclaimed. "Nice to see that you've made yourselves at home," he nodded towards the glass of wine that Sirius was sipping from with a pleased expression on his face. "Do you approve of the vintage?" he asked, amused. Sirius made a huge show of rolling the wine around in his mouth and sniffing the contents of his glass.

"Acceptable for a Rouge Cote du Rhône." he pronounced, winking outrageously at Lily. James brightened.

"That's perfect for what I've cooked." he declared. "Bring the whole bottle into the dining room, will you? I'm just about to put supper on the table." Sirius bounded up, and followed James into the kitchen, bottle in hand. He pulled the door shut behind them and leaned against the counter where James was arranging lettuce and lemon slices around a platter of salmon.

"Say, James," he started, "I'd appreciate it if you'd talk to Lily…" he trailed off as James raised an eyebrow at the statement. Sirius faltered slightly, but went on.

"Lils is great, just great," he insisted, "but it's so tiresome when she's always dragging muggle politics into things. It's cool you can cook, but that's her job; she's the wife. And insisting you get home early all the time to take your "turn" taking care of Ayleigh?" he broke off suddenly as James rounded on him with a bit of viciousness.

"You really are happily ignorant, aren't you?" James asked rhetorically. "Neither of us are working right now, so yeah, I'm going to cook and take care of Ayleigh in equal measures as Lily. Even if I was working, I'd still be helping out. It's damn hard taking care of a baby; more than a full time job by itself. Household spells are harder than the N.E.W.T.s, I swear. Muggles do have it right when it comes to expecting _both_ parents to be equal. Get that through your skull." he finished by thumping Sirius in the forehead, who scowled.

"She's changed you," he complained, and James actually growled.

"Lily is the best thing that ever happened to me!" Sirius looked sullen.

"We had so much fun in school," he said, "but you got so boring in fifth year. Insisting that we stop most of our pranks, and spending half your time _studying_…" James rolled his eyes.

"We were bullies." he said frankly. "Most of our pranks were cruel, and awful. What you did to Severus was absolutely unforgiveable. Yeah, he's a snot, and a coward, and was way too into the Dark Arts even back then, but using _Remus_ to almost get him bit? You _should_ have been expelled for that. Lily made me realise how awful of a person I was, hiding behind the Gryffindor flag to claim the higher moral ground. I changed because she inspired me to be a better person, and I'm just thankful she gave me another chance after five years of driving her batty with my shenanigans."

Sirius looked vaguely thoughtful and petulant in equal measures. James clapped him on the shoulder.

"Sirius. Think about it." Then he smiled, and pulled Sirius into a hug. "C'mon," he said, "I'll teach you the charm that sets the table. It's damn hard." Sirius pulled out his wand agreeably.

"Only if you let me put up some decorations." he said, Transfiguring the curtains into cobwebs, complete with spiders. "It's practically a crime that we can't do anything for Hallowe'en today, but really, no decorations?" James grinned at Sirius and pulled out his own wand.

"Why I think you're right." he agreed. "Bet I can charm more bats than you." Sirirus laughed.

"You're on!"

* * *

"Lily…" James started hesitantly, a few minutes after waving farewell to Peter and Sirius as they disappeared into the gloomy night. Lily turned to him, a smile playing on her lips.

"Hmmm?" she questioned, heading for the kitchen via the living room, cleaning up Ayleigh's toys as she went. James followed her, levitating puzzle pieces back into their correct boxes and stuffed animals onto the shelves where they propped up advanced charms books, and volumes on theoretical potions reactions.

"Did you notice that Peter never took off his sweater all night?" Lily stopped and turned to him, a bit of a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Mm, that's right." she agreed. "He complained that it was cold, and then never took it off, despite the fact that Sirius asked us to damp the fire because he was too hot in his tank top. Perhaps Peter is getting sick." James was absolutely sober.

"I don't think that was it, Lils." he told her. Lily raised an eyebrow at him, so he took a deep, shuddery breath and perched on the edge of the sofa arm to explain.

"He came into the dining room as Sirius and I were setting the table, and I asked him to hand me the candles. When he stretched across the table to hand them to me, his left sleeve rode up and I saw black ink on his arm. I acted like I hadn't even glanced at his arm, and he didn't seem to notice that his sleeves were short enough to ride up like that, but…" he trailed off. Lily had turned stark white.

"He has been acting more oddly than usual lately, but James! Do you honestly think…?" James nodded, lips pressed together in a thin, pale line. Lily abruptly flushed from totally white to an angry red.

"I'm going to _kill_ him!" she swore in low voice, looking as though she'd rather be shouting. "Then," she went on," I'm going to build a dungeon under the house, resurrect him, and spend the next few decades killing him all over again!" Despite himself James chuckled a little.

"Why don't we double cross him instead?" Lily instantly looked intrigued.

"Would it end with his painful death?" she inquired. James grinned.

"Absolutely."

"I'm all ears." Lily sat on the arm of the chair across from him and leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand.

"We'll assume that Peter will eventually cave and tell Voldemort where we live. I'm still not sure why he's apparently so after us, but I assume it has to do with this damn prophecy Dumbledore's negligently refusing to tell us. Lily!" he half shouted, as his wife looked about to jump into a recital of Dumbledore's praises, "I know he's the leader of the light, and rid the world of Grindelwald, but he's ancient, and I think he's starting to slip mentally a bit. At the least he has way too much on his plate; three full time jobs, really? Plus leading the Order? I think he's gotten so used to being able to orchestrate everything that he's forgotten that we're intelligent people, and not just chess pieces." Lily frowned, but was clearly pondering this. James pressed his advantage while he had it.

"If there's a prophecy about Ayleigh, don't you want to know it? We can't protect her if we don't know what Voldemort wants with us, can we?" That sold the fiery, protective Lily. She nodded.

"That's true." she said, "and I am confident in my abilities to make good choices. Dumbledore rather _has_ been treating us like children all this time, hasn't he? Even the older members of the Order, like the Prewett brothers." James looked utterly relieved at his wife's acquiescence, leaned forward, and squeezed her hand in gratitude. "OK, what's your plan?" she asked him.

"I think we should start warding off Ayleigh's room." he told her. "I know that no one would look for a fidelius warded room inside of a fidelius protected house. We can key it to only open to those of Potter blood. I can cast it, you can be the secret keeper, and we'll tell Ayleigh the secret. Even though she's an infant, she'll still be able to see it if we tell her. If Voldemort breaks into the house, we can escape into that room even if there are anti-apparation and portkey wards up. Of course," he paused and looked sombre, "we'll try our best to take him out if he comes here. I think we should try to start making golems of us three. We can control them and fight Voldemort through them from the room." Lily looked vaguely daunted.

"He could attack any day, and it could take us weeks to learn how to make long lasting golems." she pointed out.

"True," James agreed, "but we can ward her room tonight, and at least have that protection." he was interrupted by Ayleigh whimpering as she woke up in her upstairs bedroom. He hopped off the sofa and walked up the stairs and peeked into her room.

Ayleigh was standing up, holding onto the rails and looking as though she didn't quite know whether to cry or just sit down and go back to sleep. Her eyes were puffy with sleep, and she blinked slowly and smiled as she saw James come into the room.

"Hey darling." he greeted her. She waved her arms in his direction.

"Ababa, up." she said. James smiled.

"Baba, huh?" he asked. "I know Lily taught you to say Papa; where did this Baba business come from?" he continued, and scooped fifteen month old into his arms where she nestled happily, leaning her head on his shoulder and popped a thumb into her mouth.

"Wanna drin', Baba." she said sleepily. James laughed, hoisted her a bit higher on his shoulder and headed down the stairs. Lily was curled up on the couch, a bottle of water in hand.

"Time for her midnight drink?" she asked, amused. Ayleigh woke up and requested a drink fairly regularly; not every night, but often enough that they could anticipate it being an occurrence at least a few times a week.

James joined Lily on the couch and resettled Ayleigh in his lap. She reached for the bottle happily.

"Amama, bott'l." she requested, humming happily to herself once she'd gotten it, and lay down in James's arms, blinking up at her parents around her mouthful of bottle. Lily smiled tenderly and Summoned a blanket from upstairs, tucking it around their daughter, and leaned her own head on James's shoulder.

"Do you really think Dumbledore's overreached himself?" she asked, voice quavering slightly as she grasped for any straws to prove that her childhood hero was still invincible. James wrapped an arm around her and hugged her close.

"It had to happen sometime, Lils." he said soberly. He relaxed, rested his chin on Lily's head, and blinking lazily at the fire. He hadn't realised that he'd drifted off on the couch, wife and baby in arm, until the twinging of the wards brought him to full awareness.

Carefully, he slid off the couch and padded to the front door and peered through the viewport. His blood froze in his veins as he saw black-robed figures heading up the walk, pale masks gleaming around the central figure who was tall, sinuous, and just a little too sleek and reptilian in appearance to be handsome.

James felt his forehead go cold as adrenaline took hold. Lily was stirring on the couch, and had fear in her eyes; clearly she had noticed the wards twinging as well. James sprinted the two steps to the couch and carefully handed over their daughter. Lily read the dire situation in James's eyes and rose quietly.

"Lily, take Ayleigh and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off ." Lily kissed James and then bolted up the stairs, Ayleigh now awake and babbling at Lily, waving her pudgy hands in the air.

Lily slammed the door shut and set Ayleigh down in her crib, who whimpered.

"Shhhh, baby girl." Lily said desperately, patting her on the head and racing back to the door. She spun her wand in a complex pattern and began chanting the names of the runes she had carved into Ayleigh's door and in a circle around the perimeter of the room when she was pregnant with the girl. They weren't designed to do anything—they were just a series of runes for protection against nightmares, boggarts, and danger that most people carved around the lintels of their children's rooms. Once they had been highly necessary in the more dangerous centuries, but the knowledge to power the runes had been lost. Lily desperately poured all her strength into the words, and forced her magic into them, hoping that they would do _something_ to protect her daughter. Lily paused in her chanting to Transfigure a silver knife out of a toy broom, and slashed it across her palm. She dipped her finger into her own blood, involuntarily crying as she felt and heard the impact as a Blasting Curse exploded the front door of the house. Lily crossed the room from the door to Ayleigh and quickly, fast as she could, painted the runes for love, strength, and protection onto Ayleigh's forehead, then rested her hand on the toddler's head and poured the last vestiges of her magic into the runes. They flared silver for a moment, then vanished as if sucked into her skin. Lily whirled as the door was splintered open.

Voldemort glided into the room, moving far too smoothly to simply be walking. Seeing the two alone, he threw back his head and laughed, high and shrill, twirling his wand in one hand like a muggle stage performer.

Lily concealed the knife under her sleeve, and suppressed her tears. James _wasn't_ dead, he _couldn't_ be dead. He was just…bound. Or unconscious. He _wasn't _dead. She stepped in-between Voldemort and Ayleigh, shaking, but resolute. As if this beast was going to touch _her daughter. _At the last moment before she spoke, she recalled that she was supposed to be obsfucating Ayleigh's gender. Spur of the moment, she pulled a boy's name out of thin air.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" she said, hating her begging tone.

"Stand aside you silly girl … stand aside now." Voldemort returned, sounding as if he would…spare her. Absently, Lily wondered if Sever…no, _Snape..._had made a deal with Voldemort that Lily be spared, because it wasn't Voldemort's style to tell mudbloods to _stand aside_. She stepped back, blocking Ayleigh from him with her body, willing him to come closer.

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead." she repeated. Voldemort twirled his wand absently and Lily was flung across the room.

"Not Harry! Please … have mercy … have mercy… " she screamed, and flung herself bodily at Voldemort's ankle. She landed, clutched his robe, and Voldemort sneered down at her. Not paying attention to him, she quickly grabbed his ankle, shaking the knife out of her sleeve and scratching his skin with it, and let their blood mingle. Voldemort tried to draw back, annoyed at the her, but didn't appear to have noticed her action. She concealed a smirk and was thankful for the billowing robes that prevented him from being able to see what she'd just done. She drew one rune—banishment on his skin with hers and his blood mingled.

Lily realised she was empty. She'd poured all her strength into the room's wards and Ayleigh. She reached out, feeling for the charged wards in the room, and found that they were just humming with strength, but lacked a purpose. She pulled them into herself again, almost vibrating with the power.

Voldemort was ignoring her, kicked her in the head, forcing her to let go as her vision went blurry and she pushed herself upright, not realising she was screaming as she saw Voldemort focusing on Ayleigh, lifting his wand…beginning to speak. Voldemort was laughing that awful, high cackle. Lily shrieked and released all the power she was holding in a golden arc that swept the room at ground level, climbing the lintel of the door and the crib to flash golden in every rune she had drawn.

Voldemort blinked in astonishment and snapped out a spell, still aiming his wand at Ayleigh.

"Avada Kedavra!" There was a green flash of light, and then the gold light held on Ayleigh's forehead, trapped the green flash of death, connecting Voldemort and Ayleigh in a stream of sickly green and pale gold. Lily held it, felt the strain as she supported the golden shield with her own magic. Voldemort's eyes widened.

"What did you do?" he demanded hoarsely, his voice fading with each word. Lily smiled, blood bubbling on her lips as the last of her magic went and she continued to fuel the spell with her life force and sheer determination.

"Protecting my child, you bastard." she hissed, and had the satisfaction of seeing fear on his face just as a wrench yanked at her soul, and she collapsed onto the ground, lifeless.

* * *

Hundreds of miles away in Scotland, Albus Dumbledore was dozing at his desk after the Hallowe'en feast, trying to concentrate on paperwork but failing as dreams tugged him out of consciousness.

His desk buzzing brought him to full wakefulness and he bolted upright, gazing in horror at the small obsidian instrument that was spinning wildly and glowing…gold?

"No. No. No." he repeated to himself, panicking, and whirled, throwing a handful of floo powder into the fireplace.

"Godric's Hollow!" he commanded, but the fireplace remained resolutely closed. Dumbledore started swearing in earnest and lunged for Fawkes.

"Take me to Godric's Hollow!" he begged, and laid a finger on the bird's head, who swept them away in flash of reddish flames.

Dumbledore appeared just outside the Fidelious wards just in time to see a flash of gold in the uppermost room of the Godric's Hollow cottage.

"Not Harry!" he heard Lily shriek, and the clearly visible figure of the willowy, tall Voldemort fell in a flash of green and gold. The assembled Death Eaters, caught between the sight of their Lord falling, and Dumbledore appearing in a flash of light, phoenix on his shoulder, glaring like an avenging god, fled, racing for the property line and apparating away as soon as they cleared the wards. Dumbledore hurried inside. Tears sprang to his eyes as he stepped over the body of James Potter in the living room, and took the stairs two at a time till he ran through the wreckage of the door to Ayleigh's room. Of Voldemort, there was no physical sign. A dark, black miasma hung in the air, a phantasm, an incorporeal shade of a spirit, and Dumbledore drew himself up with indignation and began to cast a containment spell to trap the shade. It drew back, then fled, disappearing through the wall before the first syllable could fully cross Dumbledore's lips.

"I've failed." Albus said, shoulders drooping, and turned to examine the lifeless form of Lily on the ground. There was blood around her mouth, but she was smiling fiercely, eyes turned in the direction of Ayleigh's crib.

"What did you do?" Dumbledore asked her corpse, then sighed. He absolutely hated seeing children die, and the Potter child was certainly dead. _If only Voldemort had attacked the Longbottoms rather than having sent Bellatrix._ He thought regretfully, and considered how this gambit of pretending both children were boys had cost him. Clearly, Voldemort had identified with the halfblood baby "boy" more than the pureblooded Neville, and had acted accordingly. He supposed that Voldemort's shade was right now speeding for a loyal follower to possess their body and continue his reign of terror.

Ceasing his procrastinating thoughts, Dumbledore steeled himself and turned towards the crib to see the slaughtered, infant, Ayleigh. He was absolutely shocked to hear a whimper as he peered over the edge. Ayleigh was sitting up, forehead bleeding, and upon laying eyes on Dumbledore, she burst into tears and held up her arms.

"Amama, Baba." she sobbed. "Want. Want Baba, Amama."

Dumbledore reeled. Ayleigh was the child of prophecy? But…it referred to a boy… Dumbledore blinked. If it referred to a boy, then a boy Ayleigh would be.

Ignoring Fawke's squawk of disapproval as his plan solidified in his mind, Albus scooped Ayleigh into his arms and reached up to hold one of Fawke's feathers.

"Hogwarts, Fawkes." he directed, and they were gone in a flash of gold.

* * *

Dumbledore arrived in his office, and immediately cast a light sleeping spell over Ayleigh and sat down to think, thumbs pressed into his temples.

If Ayleigh had to be a boy, then the people who knew had to be silenced. A bit of a smile crept across his face as he considered just _how_ fortuitous his discovery of the book about the fidelious ward had been. It was actually about the _theory_ of the fidelious. There was a reason why the book had been banned in Britain, as the fidelious theory could be used to remove the knowledge of things from people's minds…or force information in, if one used the reverse of it.

The Fidelious was actually a mild form of mind control, or the obliviate, perhaps. It forcibly removed knowledge that people had, and replaced it with blank ignorance. That kind of reach into people's minds was illegal in most of the countries of the world, as government after government declared that everyone deserved full control of their own memories and faculties.

Dumbledore Summoned the book from his shelf and flipped through the pages till he found the information which he sought. _Harry_ he recalled Lily saying before she died. _I need a middle name. James. That's feasible_. He decided, and walked over to Ayleigh where she lay limp and snoring lightly on the settee.

Albus flicked his wand up, zigzagged, and a flash of silver began to pour out of his wand.

"Fidelisero." he enunciated clearly, and the silver surrounded Ayleigh and swathed her in light. Dumbledore paused, and thought about his phrasing.

"Harry James Potter," he said, "the only child of James Potter and Lily Potter, is the Boy-Who-Lived." he declared. The light was incandescent, and was strongest around the child's face, obscuring her features. Slightly blinded by the light, Dumbledore failed to note that three runes flared on Ayleigh's forehead, before apparently absorbing some of the silver, and vanishing again. Dumbledore blinked and regained his vision just as the oozing cut on Ayleigh's forehead flashed with silver, and healed over in a jagged line that Dumbledore stared at, trying to decipher. The scholarly side of his mind interpreted it as a chaotic rune, but Dumbledore dismissed this notion –from where would have such a rune come?—and decided that it was the mark where Voldemort's Killing Curse had failed against the power of Lily's love.

He sighed again, feeling all of his age and years at the thought of Lily lying, fierce and proud, on the floor of Ayleigh—_no, Harry,_ he corrected himself mentally—and gathered his thoughts for the next step.

He was grateful for his own foresight in always keeping the alchemical base on stock. Alchemy took a great deal of time to learn, and practice, but much of the time was taken up in preparing the alchemical bases. There were relatively few of them for the thousands of purposes that alchemy had, and it had been the work of a few, slowish years to prepare multiple samples of each base and preserve them under Stasis Charms.

Albus levitated Ayleigh's sleeping body into his lab, and after settling her in his largest cauldron-turned-makeshift-crib with a Transfigured blanket, he unsealed a vial of _Change_ and began to work—adding the essences of life, masculinity, and perception, oversaturating it with his magic to solidify the new creation into being.

The alchemist had always been unusually determined and stubborn, which had been very good for him in alchemy. The art required absolute control over one's desires. One had to use bases of _essences_ and then absolutely _will_ them into existing in the form the alchemist desired. Albus _desired_ that Ayleigh be changed to a baby boy more than anything else in the world. He reinforced his _will_ with images of the catastrophes that would strike if the prophecy was not fulfilled. It was deuced unkind of Fate to force him to set prophecy on course, he mused. It was a _male_ who would beat Voldemort permanently; the prophecy declared it. A final flare of his _will_, and the small cauldron in front of his flashed in red and gold, Gryffindor colours—which reassured Albus somewhat in their familiarity—before settling into a thin, moving liquid that swirled around ceaselessly.

Albus Summed a Will-Strengthening potion and downed the whole thing in a gulp, feeling desperately in need of fortification. Normally he would prepare a philtre on one day, and then the invocation the next day after resting. Tonight, however, he had not the time for such luxuries. He had to return to Godric's Hollow and summon the appropriate witnesses for "Harry's" rescue from the wreckage before dawn, and already it was past midnight.

Ayleigh was sleeping restlessly under the sleeping charm, and Albus reinforced it. The _change_ would be painful, he anticipated, and he preferred that Ayleigh sleep through it. He had no desire to subject his ears to her voluminous wails.

Albus Banished her clothes and blanket, and cast a light Scouring charm to rid her body and the cauldron of any contaminants which might interfere with the _invocation_. He lifted the heavy, philtre-full cauldron by hand and carefully tipped half the contents down the side of the cauldron, so that they fell under Ayleigh, and she was lifted and floated on the light gold liquid. That done, Albus took a deep breath and _willed_ it to slide up the walls of the cauldron and form a half sphere around her. He tipped the rest in, and it suspended itself above Ayleigh, forming the other half of the sphere. Albus set down the small cauldron and then returned to hover above the gold-domed cauldron containing his soon-to-be-_Boy_ of prophecy.

Another deep breath, with Albus solidifying his _will_, and then he clenched his fist, and the sphere imploded, coating Ayleigh until she resembled a golden statue of a toddler.

"Be _changed_." Albus _invoked_, and Ayleigh's body was obscured as the philtre flowed around her body in fast moving bands of red and gold. Her bodily features blended and reformed, and then the golden philtre vanished as her—now clearly _his_—body absorbed it. Albus sighed in relief, and lifted the sleeping charm. A very naked, very displeased, and very cranky baby boy sat up in the cauldron and began to sob.

Albus picked up Harry, soothing him with gentle pats to the back, and exited the lab, heading for Fawke's perch, where the bird hunkered, glaring at Albus.

"To Godric's Hollow." he told the bird, who squawked at him, _most_ un-melodiously. Albus raised one hand in defense.

"It was necessary for the fulfilment of the prophecy." he said wearily. "It is for the Greater Good." Fawkes eyeballed him, then appeared to sigh and fluttered over to Albus's shoulder and whisked the three of them away in flash of fire.

* * *

At Godric's Hollow, "Harry" now clothed, wrapped up in blankets in a large basket that Dumbledore had emptied of potatoes and repurposed as a toddler carrier, lay at Dumbledore's feet, once again totally asleep under a sleeping charm. Dumbledore placed him by Lily's body, and departed via phoenix fire for Hogwarts.

He sat at his desk, and pondered to whom to send Harry. He decided that it was too risky to leave Harry with anyone in the wizarding world. Between the threat from Death Eaters, who might never all be caught, the threat to the boy's _ego_ if he were raised by a family who would regard him as a hero rather than a child—and Albus was under no illusions that he would ever be treated normally. The Wizarding world _adored_ having larger-than-life heroes—Albus was not willing to risk keeping Harry in magical Britain. He sighed, and decided on Lily's muggle relatives. Surely they would take good care of the boy. He had heard from Lily that they had a son near Harry's age; friendly, boyish competition would keep Harry humble, and Lily's parents had been very sensible folk; Petal…wait, no, Petunia? would surely be sensible as well and treat Harry fairly

Having decided, Albus jotted out a note to Petunia Dursley, and notes to Sirius, Peter, Hagrid, and Minerva and handed the latter four to Fawkes, who eyed him, then flashed away to deliver them.

Then, Dumbledore made his way out of the Hogwarts wards, and apparated back to Godric's Hollow, and awaited the arrival of his chosen witnesses.

Sirius was already there, coming down the stairs, Harry in his arms.

"They're dead?" he demanded, "you said the fidelious would hold!" he declared. Albus had a chill go down his spine. James had told him that Sirius would be their secret keeper. The man looked genuinely distraught, and his bare arms clearly showed no Dark Mark but…no. He must have told Voldemort. Albus was grim, but forced a genial regret onto his face.

"No ward is infallible, Sirius." he said gently, and held out his arms for Harry. Sirius, still crying, held onto the child.

"I'm keeping her." he declared, looking protective. Albus chilled further. The Fidelious must not have settled yet.

"_Harry_," he enunciated very clearly, "will be safer with me. You want your _godson_ to be safe, right?" he asked. Sirius looked confused for a moment, then his face cleared.

"Of course I want him to be safe." Sirius agreed, and then a flash of anger: "I _have_ to go find Peter _now!" _he said, and dumping Harry in Dumbledore's arms, spun on his heel and almost crashed into Hagrid, who had popped out of the Potters' floo during their discussion. Sirius blinked, then apparated away, having apparently forgotten about his motorcycle which was next to the cottage fence.

"Ah, Hagrid." Dumbledore greeted the shaggy half-giant, who was sniffling and crying into his shaggy beard.

"I c'an b'lieve it, Alb's." he said, his words even less clear than usual due to his choked throat.

"It is a great tragedy." agreed Albus, "But we are blessed in it that Harry defeated Voldemort due to Lily having sacrificed her life for her love of her son." Hagrid looked down at Dumbledore in wonder.

"Is tha' wha' happen'd, then?" he asked in awe. Dumbledore twinkled at his groundskeeper.

"Indeed, my boy." he said, mainly drawing conclusions from incomplete data, and coming up mostly wrong. He transferred Harry to Hagrid's arms.

"Please bring him to Privet Drive." he instructed, casting a Directional Charm onto Sirius's motorcycle. "Sirius left his bike for you. While you're en route, I must see to some important business." he explained. Hagrid nodded floppily, enormous arms cradling the toddler closer till he almost disappeared into Hagrid voluminous beard. He turned and headed towards the motorcycle, mumbling under his breath.

"Poor James an' Lily. Great man, Dumbledore. Great man." Dumbledore watched him take off into the sky sombrely, then apparated to Diagon Alley.

* * *

Twenty minutes of swearing under his breath later that James had gone ahead and made a will designating _Ayleigh Potter_ his heir later, Dumbledore managed to convince, bribe and intimidate Blodrug into forging a document using a bit of James's hair that Dumbledore had taken from the dead man as a physical catalyst for the Potter magic to accept the new will as newest, and the legitimate one. He copied the old will over almost precisely, only changing it to specifically request Dumbledore to use his knowledge and expertise to care for _Harry_ however he saw best.

Pleased with himself, Dumbledore filed the new will with Blodrug, and left. As his robes swished out of the office, Blodrug bared his teeth and maliciously filed the old, real will with the new one rather than destroying it as was normal to do when a new will was created.

If this came back to bite Dumbledore in the ass later, it would only bring him entertainment, and the wizard deserved it for his highhandedness over the years.

* * *

Petunia yawned and stretched as she woke up, then wrapped herself up in her favourite, fluffy robe, and wandered downstairs to retrieve the paper and milk from the front stoop before starting breakfast, as was her every Sunday morning routine.

She opened the door, then blinked in astonishment at the basket, which proclaimed "potatoes" on one side, with a drawn graphic of a pile of potatoes on the side, but which most certainly did _not_ contain potatoes.

Apprehensively, she parted the piles of blankets and discovered the face of a toddler, scarred, and framed with long, curly black hair. Petunia shrieked and jumped backwards, then looked around the neighbourhood hoping that no one was up to see these _freakish_ shenanigans.

Petunia picked up the basket, milk, and paper, and fled for the kitchen, locking the front door behind her.

With shaking hands, she withdrew the toddler from the basket, wondering how it was that anyone would leave a baby outside on a freezing night—did freaky people care so little for their children?—and noticed a piece of parchment fell out of the baby's clothes as she did so.

"Shhhhh…..um…Ayleigh." Petunia recalled the birth announcement she'd received from Lily, and then promptly thrown away.

She opened the paper and read with a sinking heart the note from the _'great'_ Albus Dumbledore, telling her that her sister and good-for-nothing husband were dead, and that their…_son? Her nephew_...Harry was being left to Petunia's care. He explained that if she kept Harry, her family would be protected by _wards_ which would keep away wizards who meant them harm.

_Harry. Nephew?_ Petunia staggered slightly as her memory rearranged, and then she blinked at the sombre baby boy in her arms. _Harry James Potter_, she thought, glaring at the imposition.

"You be a speck of trouble and you'll regret it." she warned him, and then set the toddler down in Dudley's playpen and started to cook breakfast, absolutely dreading what she would tell Vernon.

As she flipped the fifteenth perfectly fried egg from the pan to the platter in the warm oven, Vernon clumped down the stair, scratching his bollocks and yawning widely.

"Morning, Pet." he said, wandering into the kitchen and pouring himself a huge mug half full of coffee, filling it the rest of the way with cream and sugar.

"Morning, Vernon." she smiled up at him. "I've cooked your favourite today…" she said, hoping to entice into a truly wonderful mood before dropping the bombshell on him. He brightened, and then her plan was utterly derailed by the sound of a wail from the living room. Vernon abruptly lost his slouch.

"What was that?" he demanded. "Dudders never sounds like that. What's wrong with him?" Petunia hastened to calm him down.

"It's not Dudley." she said, trying to figure out how precisely to explain this. "Um, my sister and her husband…died last night and…" she wrung her hands. She wasn't any fonder of magic than Vernon was, but Vernon had absolutely despised every magical person who he'd met, sensing their vague condescension to him as a _muggle, and oh how he _hated _that word and the smug attitude_, and was likely to react with a great deal of anger. She sighed as he merely grunted.

"Good riddance." he said, looking vaguely smug.

"That's not all, dear," she prevaricated. Vernon glared at her, sensing that he was about to really dislike the news that was coming. Petunia wrung her hands and dropped the bombshell. "AndtheyleftHarryhereforustotakecareofbecausehe'snotsafeinthemagicalworld." she blurted out. Vernon reddened.

"Left him here? Freaks can't take care of one of their own?" Petunia shrugged.

"I found him in a basket on the front step with a note." Vernon peered outside disbelievingly and noted the fog and the frost on their front lawn.

"What kind of freaks would leave a toddler outside in this?" he demanded. Petunia didn't know either.

"The freaks probably are tougher than we are. Maybe at least when it comes to the cold?" she offered. Vernon appeared to accept this explanation.

"The brat will have to work for its keep." he warned Petunia. "No letting him be pampered like a little prince. We'll keep him sensible and work the freakiness out of him." he declared, feeling prouder of himself for his plan to save Harry from being freaky by the minute. Petunia nodded furiously, just relieved that Vernon hadn't exploded on her for the news.

"Damn freaks." Vernon muttered, taking the platter from food from the oven and manoeuvring himself through the narrow doorway to the dining room and plopped down in his oversized, reinforced chair and began to tuck in without fanfare.

* * *

Harry went eighteen months without a single episode of freakiness, and Vernon had relaxed around the child.

"Girl just needed to be in a good, wholesome environment." he bragged to Petunia, bouncing the little boy, barely half Dudley's size, on one knee, with his own son happily bouncing on his other.

The cousins were now almost three years old which was, unbeknownst to the Dursleys, generally the very youngest that magical children began demonstrating magical abilities.

Petunia was setting the table for supper, and smiled at her little family. She had been so apprehensive when they'd taken Harry in, but things had turned out all right, even if Vernon kept accidentally calling Harry a _girl_.

"Harry's your nephew." she reminded her husband, who looked puzzled.

"I know that." he returned. "You're queer sometimes, Pet. Why do you keep telling me that he's a boy?" Petunia bit her lip and didn't respond, but just shrugged and forced a little laugh. He never recalled when he'd slipped and called Harry a _her_, either. It was downright…._freaky._

"Supper's ready." she called her boys with a smile. Vernon lumbered to his feet, deposited Harry in the play pen, and carried Dudley over to his chair. Petunia had started the tradition of making Harry watch them eat, and then giving him the leftovers of Dudley's plate. She was determined that the little freaky spawn know from a young age that he was _not_ equal to her Dudders, and that he and his freakiness would always come second to her _real_ son. Vernon was happily oblivious, and thought that Harry was so much smaller due to genetics –freaky, small genetics—rather than the truth that Petunia was overfeeding Dudley, and underfeeding Harry.

Harry, hungry and cranky, although he was always quietly sombre, having learned within weeks of his arrival at Privet Drive that making a fuss would result in being ignored even longer, stared longingly at the bottle of milk in Dudley's hand. He sighed and rested his chin on the edge of the playpen, _wanting_ the bottle.

Abruptly, the bottle flew from the startled Dudley's grip into Harry's. Astonished at his good fortune, Harry happily sat down and popped the nipple into his mouth and started drinking.

Dudley was wailing from angry shock. Vernon shot to his feet, having witnessed the entire thing and bellowed like a wounded bull.

"_Freakiness!"_ he shouted. "Pet, he _magicked_ that over to himself!" Petunia turned pale and shaky. Vernon's wrath was to be feared. She had been harder on Harry than she normally would be in an attempt to pre-emptively please her husband, so that he wouldn't feel the need to discipline Harry with the viciousness of which she knew he was capable.

Vernon stalked over to Harry and yanked the bottle out of his mouth. Harry shrank and stared up at Vernon with terrified eyes as the man leaned down and spat in his face:

"None of your _freakiness_ in this house. You're going to your room." he declared, holding Harry in the air with his grip on the boy's upper arm, then paused.

"No, _freaks_ don't have rooms." He decided, and dragged Harry over to the cupboard under the stairs, which was half full of cleaning supplies. Yes, that would do nicely, he concluded.

"Pet!" he roared, "go fetch his cot!" Petunia bustled past him up the stairs and fetched Harry's tiny toddler bed, which had been Dudley's till a few weeks before when they'd handed it down to Harry. She stuffed it into the back of the cupboard, and Vernon flung Harry bodily onto it.

"Shut up." he hissed into the boy's face, who was whimpering quietly. "I wasted _affection_ on you, you _freak_." he spat, feeling betrayed and angry. Vernon slammed the cupboard shut and headed straight for the garage in search of a padlock. Freaky little thing was _not_ going to be free to roam the house if he, Vernon Dursley, had anything to do with it.

Alone, and in the dark, Harry sat down and leaned against the door of the cupboard and put his face to a tiny crack, seeking the light from the hall as comfort from the oppressive, chemically-scented darkness.

He did not cry.

* * *

*Reviews make me happy and inspire me to write faster! What did you like, or dislike?

*Currently I'm accepted suggestions for what Ayleigh's middle name should be. Go crazy! Be forewarned, it won't be "Lily" no matter what. IMHO, "Ayleigh Lily" really doesn't flow well.

*Also, I don't have a beta. Anyone feel the urge to volunteer? I'm writing using U.K English spelling, and I'm going to be trying to use British-isms, so I'd prefer it if any potential betas were from an English Commonwealth country.


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